


Body Language

by CultOfAdoration



Series: If He Had A Symbol, It Would Be Lead [4]
Category: Ghost (Swedish Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Edging, Exhibitionism, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Humiliation, In Public, Kissing, M/M, Overstimulation, Spit Kink, Teasing, lot of kissing. i have a one track mind, pops is tired but he still deals with this stupid little brat fsr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CultOfAdoration/pseuds/CultOfAdoration
Summary: Better to quit while you're ahead, little ghoul.
Relationships: Papa Emeritus II/OC
Series: If He Had A Symbol, It Would Be Lead [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1057652
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	Body Language

At exactly nine o’clock at night, the cathedral comes alive, all sconces lit and seemingly every member of the congregation chattering excitedly as they make their way through the bustling halls. Probably at the prospect of a good meal rather than the actual event itself; considering the size of the ghoulish congregation, the anniversary of a ghoul’s consecration is not normally a large event, but Nihil considers it a party for an old friend. After all, she is one of the oldest surviving ghouls to be raised from Hell by Papa Nihil himself. Raising rituals have come a long way since then, of course, but the Unholy Family were never ones to shy away from celebrating every little achievement, no matter who in their flock is responsible.

The ghoul picks his way through the crowd against the flow of traffic, through the winding halls and up one of the many spiraling staircases reaching the third level living quarters. He’d been feeling bored and, quite honestly, more than a little pent up these past few months. Surely a quick visit to his favorite Papa would cheer him up, or at the very least distract him for the time being. Judging by the somewhat out-of-sorts Sister of Sin sneaking her way out of his bedroom, he’s not the only one around here in need of attention. 

“Saved some for the rest of us, I’m hoping?”

She seems startled to see him, especially with the festivities downstairs kicking off. He stifles a laugh at the sister and she playfully smacks his arm, making a face when he raises his hand with a quiet “tag in” on her way past.

“We didn’t do anything!” She laughs, discreetly adjusting her skirts.

“Sure, _okay_.” 

He watches her hurry off before he finally knocks on the heavy wooden door, for once waiting for permission to enter. Admittedly, he feels a little like he should wait until after dinner is finished – he has work to do after all – but at the very least he’d like to say hello and to possibly make his needs known for later. 

When he steps inside, gingerly closing (and locking – it never hurts to be hopeful) the door behind him, hovering awkwardly in the entryway. 

“Hi, Papa.”

Seated only in his alb at a vanity mirror opposite the door as he thickly applies his black and white skull paint, The Second hardly acknowledges him save for an aside glance through the mirror. The Ghoul takes the hint and has a seat at the edge of The Second’s bed to wait until he’s ready to speak. He assumes it’s difficult to get the paint right if you’re moving your face too much, especially the lower half. However, that certainly doesn’t stop the ghoul from his usual routine of babbling about whatever’s been on _his_ mind; his studies, the handful of friends he’s managed to make within the church, work, a possible need for private cooking lessons... 

That last one finally manages to get a reaction out of Papa. It’s nothing more than a soft, amused exhale, but it still brings a wide grin to the ghoul’s face. Through the mirror, Papa glances at the ghoul and notices that at some point in their mostly one-sided conversation, he’d laid back on the bed, staring at the high ceiling with his legs dangling over the foot of it. 

Finished with his skull paint, he scoots the stool away from the mirror and makes his way to a low set of dresser drawers where a chasuble sits neatly folded. 

The youngest of the Papas always insisted on an assortment of ghouls or Siblings of Sin being present to help him dress for ceremonial gatherings. At first, the ghoul assumed that the vestments were simply too heavy and bulky to be easily put on without assistance, but over the past year and a half, he’d clutched at the exact same material that makes up the Second's vestments, as well as having watched him get dressed just fine on his own to know that that was a load of bullshit. The Third is just a chivalrous pervert. He chuckles at how obvious that thought would have been to anyone less gullible or naive. 

“Now, what can I do for you, ghoul?” He finally asks, now that he’s able to speak freely instead of just humming in acknowledgement, fully dressed save for his gloves and mitre. “Surely, you aren’t hiding from your duties in the kitchen?” 

Intricately embroidered golden trim runs the length of his chasuble, surrounding a pattern of sigils and a language that the ghoul is unable to read, momentarily distracting him from his train of thought. When Papa turns to face him, tiny points of golden light reflecting off of the metallic thread and onto his jawline and cheeks disarms the ghoul completely. It isn’t until Papa crosses his arms and clears his throat with mock impatience that the ghoul snaps back into focus. 

“Oh!” He laughs. “Well, to be honest with you, Papa, I came here with, um… _sinful intent_ , but it looks like someone else beat me to it.”

The Second merely quirks an eyebrow.

“I haven't exactly been given a daily limit, you know,” he says, with a quiet “ _not yet anyway_ ” added under his breath as he slowly and methodically tugs his leather gloves over his hands. The ghoul laughs again, this time out of nervous habit when faced with scrutiny, no matter how minor.

“It’s just… well, dinner’s in half an hour. I don’t know how easy it is to get up and get off so soon, I mean, with your age—“ 

Papa freezes with his hand halfway into the glove, staring straight ahead for a small moment, before tilting his head quizzically at the ghoul. 

“Excuse me? My _age_?”

He roughly tugs the glove the rest of the way down, fastening the closure at the wrist. His voice is as cold and calm as ever, with just the slightest tinge of amusement as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing, but the ghoul can plainly see the way he’s fighting to keep his features from curling into a snarl. _Uh oh._ Face already growing hot with embarrassment, the ghoul turns his head away so as to avoid The Second’s gaze. 

“That’s–” He clears his throat. “That isn’t– I didn’t mean it like that!”

He risks a glance when he doesn’t get a response. Papa squints down at him, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised questioningly, as if to tell him to go on and explain himself. Tiny pinpricks of golden light illuminate and reflect onto his face and eyes when he moves, making them seem even more sinister and eerie than usual.

“I apologize, Papa. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

That gets a laugh out of him; a dark, almost dry sound that betrays how little use it sees. 

“Upset…” Papa continues chuckling to himself. “No, I am not upset, _little thing_.” 

Gently, he brings a gloved hand to cup the side of the ghoul’s face, rubbing the pad of his thumb over his cheek. Even though it doesn’t hurt at all, the ghoul winces when Papa gives him a light tap. 

“Dinner is soon. You may see me later. Now, put on your nice clothes, get cleaned up, eh?” 

Biting back a remark that these _are_ his nice clothes, and he _is_ cleaned up, the ghoul nods and makes for the door, a hand on the small of his back hurrying him along. 

The ghoul spends the rest of his remaining free time repeatedly finger combing his hair using the kitchen window as a mirror. He only stops when he notices the additional reflection of a ghoulette around his age peeking at him from over his head.

“Try not to be so nervous!” She chirps, tapping her claws on one of his horns. “I doubt anyone will pay that much attention to the _servant ghouls_ , anyway,” she adds with a grumble. 

He pushes his hair back off his forehead one last time and sighs, muttering in vague agreement.

Having nothing else to busy his hands with for the time being, he decides that he might as well clean and polish the silverware for a second time, carefully passing off each newly shined set to an older Sibling loading up a kitchen cart. He momentarily loses himself in the soothing, repetitive motion of running the soft cloth over the intricate filigree of the silverware handles, only coming back to his senses when he’s bumped in the shoulder by a passing Sister of Sin carrying an armful of trays. 

Clergy members are already beginning to fill the dining hall, most of them meeting up with friends or family, chattering amongst themselves on their way to their seats. Several long tables adorned with arrangements of dried flowers and decorative tapestries run perpendicular to a shorter, more elaborately decorated table at the forefront of the room. The table is slightly elevated, with only two small steps leading up to the platform, and is backlit by ornate stained glass windows spanning the length of the wall, depicting the Old One’s ascension. Papa Emeritus Nihil insists that the head table and those who sit there aren’t any different or more important than those seated at the others; the dining hall’s layout is purely aesthetic. Ghouls and Siblings in aprons and pressed uniforms have already begun bringing food and drink to the tables by the time the ghoul makes his way through the entryway. The ghoul makes multiple trips back and forth between tables and kitchen carts, bringing baskets and platters heavy with bread, vegetables, and lamb for the human clergy members, and a variety of fruits, thinly shaved cured pork, and thickly cut slabs of raw beef for the ghoulish. Or, again, human clergy members, should they feel so inclined. Once all of the tables are served, the kitchen staff is dismissed to find a seat of their own. Papa Nihil would rather they get to eat with the rest of the parish than give them a mandatory separate meal time. He doesn’t believe in eating alone. 

The Emeritus sons typically spent their dinners seated wherever and with whomever they pleased, seeing as they tend to spend their free time schmoozing with whoever’s caught their attention as of late, but are generally encouraged to stay nearby for convenience of toasts and speeches. Knowing their father, the opportunity for toasts and speeches arises more often than not. The ghoul doesn’t serve the table that the Papas and higher ranking clergy members are seated at tonight, but he does find himself looking over to them more often than usual. How could he not, given the table’s elevation and the dramatic backdrop framing the entire ordeal like a renaissance painting? 

Through the light crowding of still yet-to-be-seated clergy members, the Third happens to look in the direction of the daydreaming ghoul, catching his eye for a fleeting moment before the ghoul nervously averts his gaze to the space above his shoulder. Tapping once on the table with a few words, inaudible from where the ghoul is standing, the Third manages to get the attention of his brother seated just four spaces to his left. The Second follows his gaze over to where the ghoul is standing, eyes wide and stock-still. Papa’s own face remains cold, if a little annoyed, but he does raise his wine glass in a quick “cheers” motion and holds the other hand out in a sweeping gesture as if beckoning him over.

Somehow, the ghoul wills his legs to move and trudges his way over, doing his best to make it seem like he isn’t kind of, sort of completely dreading being seen right now. Anxious, sweaty, in a dirty apron and probably smelling like dish soap and silverware polish. _Get cleaned up_ , he said. Perfect!

Much sooner than he’d have preferred, the ghoul finds himself standing awkwardly behind the seats of the two clergy members that face the Second at the table. 

“Hello, Papa,” he says, voice wavering slightly. He tried not to wince over it; he still doesn’t know how he’s supposed to behave in the general public compared to what goes on behind closed doors. “Um… Did you need something?” 

He nods, and folds his hands on the table in front of him. 

“I was hoping you would like to continue our conversation from earlier concerning your lack of manners.”

The ghoul visibly tenses. The corner of Papa’s mouth twitches, the amusement in his voice imperceptible if you didn’t know what to listen for. He’s screwing with him. God, _of course_ , he is. 

The Third breaks the heavy silence between the two with a laugh, only politely covering his mouth with a hand for show and making no effort to actually muffle himself. 

“Go back to your flirting,” the Second spits at him, all illusion of stoicism broken. All his reaction does is encourage the younger.

“No, no, I want to hear this! Let’s talk about it,” he says, leaning forward on his elbow. 

If the Third were trying to rescue him by defusing the situation, the ghoul would make sure to give his thanks later, but even he knew better than that. 

“Do _I_ insert myself into _your_ affairs?” 

“Yes! You do!” 

He lets his mind wander a little while he runs scenarios in his brain as to how to get out of this one until, thankfully, the bickering is silenced by Sister Imperator with a stern clearing of her throat. The ghoul can’t look directly at her, knowing full well that the sound means she has that same infinitely annoyed look on her face that she usually has by the time the brothers' bickering gets her attention. 

“Well, Papa, I’m honored that you would ask for my presence, but…” he stutters. “It doesn’t look like there’s anywhere for me to sit.” 

As soon as the words leave his mouth, the ghoul has to fight to not let his mind wander off anywhere too dark. Before he can scurry away, the eldest Emeritus brother wordlessly makes a gesture that is not unlike the parting of the Red Sea, never missing a beat in his own conversation off to the side. The Brother and ghoul seated directly across from the Second both scoot their chairs over to make room as one of the First’s ghouls appears seemingly out of nowhere with an extra chair. The ghoul grits his teeth when he sees the Second hiding a grin behind his wine glass. He’d never spent too much time around the other Papas, but it’s becoming increasingly obvious just how much they enjoy being… difficult. Silly him, he assumed it was just one of the Second’s unique charms. Turns out the whole family is full of sadists. 

“Okay. Well, then. Thank you. It’s an honor. That’s very kind of you,” the ghoul replies almost robotically as he takes his seat. 

The conversation doesn’t continue much past that aside from a few laughs at the ghoul’s expense from some familiar faces at other tables, everyone else deciding to go back to their previous conversations once it’s clear that there will be no public berating. 

Before long, Nihil stands and the din of conversation immediately dies out. There’s no doubt that the speech is lovely, and heartfelt, and all of the other things Nihil’s speeches typically are, but the ghoul’s pulse is thrumming far too loud in his ears to focus entirely. Nihil gestures to the elderly ghoulette seated beside him as he speaks, and she raises her glass and bows when the congregation applauds. He’d never seen her before aside from quick, passing glances out of the corner of his eye; her smile is sharp and gorgeous and stretches impossibly at the corners of her mouth, filled with layer after layer of needle sharp teeth. She is everything a ghoul could ever hope to be. A pillar of the community, an expert in sigil crafting, and the creator of many rituals that are still in use to this day, provided Nihil isn’t embellishing again. She leads the congregation in a quick prayer, and with that, they’re allowed to begin their meal.

The ghoul stares ahead, seemingly unaware of the eyes on him.

“You’re not eating,” says the Sister seated beside the Third. “Are you not hungry?” 

An older ghoul waves a hand, gesturing vaguely at the food in the center of the table, as if the ghoul himself hadn’t been part of the crew dishing it out. 

“Go on, no need to be polite.” 

That earns a scoff and an eye roll from the Second. _Polite_.

The ghoul nervously sets up a small plate and pushes the food around for a minute or two with a fork and knife, deeming it inappropriate to eat with his hands the way he would while seated with his fellow lower ranking ghouls. Dinner seems to be going well enough, all things considered. No embarrassing spills. No bad jokes or awkward moments for him to reflect on and cringe at in the middle of the night. 

Until he feels a thud against his chair.

The meat falls off of his fork and back onto the plate when he jerks in surprise. He looks down without moving his head too much, only to see the Second’s foot kicked up onto his chair on the outside of his leg. He opens his mouth to question it but thinks better of the decision when he sees that the Second is deep in conversation with the Brother next to the ghoul. All he gets is a quick side glance. 

It’s not like he gets whatever they’re talking about anyway. The ghoul distracts himself from saying anything stupid by shoving a forkful of food into his mouth, never lifting his eyes from the plate. It isn’t until he’s taking a sip of his wine (something dark and bitter and almost entirely unpalatable to him) that the Second moves his shoe from the side of the ghoul's leg to instead kick them apart and settle right in between, against the front of the chair. Eyes comically wide, he looks up at Papa only for him to raise his eyebrows and glance downward. The ghoul falters for a moment. Does he really want to do this here of all places? He flushes, recalling their first real interaction out in the garden. It wasn’t until a few weeks after that he discovered the garden was practically invisible from the cathedral. But here, there’s no chance of hiding or playing it off should anything go awry. 

The ghoul moves forward in his chair with a subtle nod. 

Papa smiles, but does nothing more. He makes no move to close the distance, no matter how unbearable he knows the anticipation is getting. It feels like forever before the ghoul even feels contact; just a feather light touch of leather against his thigh and it takes everything for the ghoul to stop himself from startling. 

As the night wears on, he inches closer and closer to the ghoul’s crotch, eventually putting the sole of his shoe fully against him, his cock already filling out underneath his uniform. Despite his initial luring and threats of a “conversation” to be had, Papa still hasn’t said too much to the ghoul, who is nervously glancing around as if expecting to be caught at any moment. 

It’s only when the ghoul begins fidgeting at the gentle pressure and friction that Papa openly brings his attention back to him.

“Is everything alright? There’s no need to be nervous,” he says, his voice all mock concern and practically dripping with self-satisfaction. His comment draws the attention of a few others at the table.

“Oh, no, Papa, I’m just fine. Thank you,” he says, trying not to blush at how weak his voice sounds. _Gotta get a grip_ , he reminds himself. 

The Second seems satisfied with the response, noting the tremble in the ghoul’s voice, and goes back to chatting up the Sister he’s seated next to, leaning close to her on his elbow and muttering under his breath to the blushing woman.

The ghoul tries to focus on his food, or anything else really, but it’s getting particularly difficult with the Second constantly changing the pressure and speed at which he’s working his foot against his cock. Eventually, the ghoul manages to tune out the sensation just enough so as not to get completely overwhelmed or move around too much, while still being able to revel in the feeling. Papa’s worked his way into a steady rhythm of rocking the sole of his shoe against him, shifting, rocking, pressure, shifting, rocking, pressure– 

“Are you enjoying that?” Papa asks, gesturing down at the ghoul’s plate, all the while continuing the increasingly overpowering motions against his groin. The ghoul has to physically bite back a groan. _Asshole_.

“Y-yeah, I am. It’s… good,” the ghoul mutters. If Papa’s going to insist on speaking to him, he’d better get used to short responses. There’s no way in Hell he can keep his voice stable enough to carry out proper dinner conversation. 

But as luck would have it, Papa seems satisfied and immediately goes back to ignoring the ghoul. Verbally, at least. The outside stimulus is getting to be a little overwhelming, even without the ghoul’s current predicament. Thanks to the copious amounts of wine and liquor available, a good amount of Siblings and ghouls have begun speaking a little louder than necessary, some of them seemingly unable to stay in their seats and choosing instead to mill about the dining hall conversing with friends at other tables. Even Papa Nihil seems to be feeling a little livelier than usual and leaves his seat, visiting with any familiar face that may catch his eye. His assistant follows close behind with his oxygen tank, just in case, making some polite conversations of their own with who the ghoul assumes to be Nihil’s regulars.

Totally unperturbed by the difference in atmosphere, the Second continues his teasing of the ghoul while somehow simultaneously carrying several threads of conversation at once. Papa makes sure to maintain strong eye contact, both when speaking or being spoken to – but the moment the attention is off of him, he's right back to staring hard at the ghoul. He tells himself that Papa is merely looking for any signs of discomfort, even if it’s just to will away the slightly unnerving feeling of being so carefully inspected. Even if the feeling is also sort of exciting.

It’s getting more and more difficult to keep from getting antsy, occasionally shifting in his seat as discreetly as he can in an attempt to meet the solid pressure between his legs. Absently, the ghoul puts a hand over his mouth and taps rhythmically on the table with his claws as a means of distraction from the urge to rut hard into the firm pressure. The only reason he notices the Second staring quizzically at him is because his head snapped up at the feeling of the shoe drawing away. When he’s sure no one is looking too hard at either of them, he mouths something at the ghoul, who tilts his head in confusion. Papa mouths the word again – “ _Stop?_ ”

The ghoul feels his face go even hotter, glancing around. Sure enough, nobody is paying him any mind. He shakes his head. Taking a drink to hide the minute quirk of his lips, Papa is careful to mask his expression, but the amusement and relief are still plain in his eyes with the way they turn up and wrinkle just the slightest amount more at the corners. 

_Good. At least he’s having fun_ , the ghoul thinks bitterly. 

That isn’t right. Obviously he’s enjoying himself, especially if the fire spreading through his lower belly and the slight tremble developing in his legs are anything to go by. He just wishes that he were free to react without causing a scene. After all, it's not _that_ kind of ceremony.

Papa is momentarily distracted by a Brother leaning in to speak with him in a hushed voice and a delicate hand on his arm, finally giving the ghoul a chance to pick at his meal without the risk of choking to death when the movement against his cock slows, and then finally stops altogether.

He’s changed his mind – the abrupt lack of stimulation is even worse than the slow torture. At the very least, he tries to be grateful for the opportunity to compose himself and get his breathing back under control. So far so good. It doesn’t seem like anyone’s noticed, at least not that the ghoul can tell. But does he really want to push his luck? If it should escalate to the point where he’s pushed over the edge, would he be able to hide it? Would he even be _allowed_ to get there in the first place? So many factors, and all of them a mystery to everyone but Papa, who carries on like it’s nothing. 

Allowing himself to get lost in his thoughts for a while, the ghoul resumes absently pushing his food around on his plate and giving short, simple answers to anyone who tries to speak with him in an attempt to not make an ass of himself where the Papas and other upper echelons of the clergy could hear. It isn’t like there aren’t lower ranking ghouls and Siblings seated at the very same table, but… 

As if to show that he hadn’t forgotten him, Papa resumes his movements between the ghoul’s legs. Gentle at first but rapidly working his way up to something a little too intense to keep completely under control. Or maybe that’s just the sensitivity kicking in from the momentary lack of stimulation. The ghoul is slowly but surely coming undone, covering his mouth with his hand as casually as he possibly can while still poking at his food and doing his best not to look like he's going to pass out. It does not take long for his hips to begin thrusting against Papa’s shoe, despite the pressing need to keep still.

It is not the most cautious of decisions given the amount of people around them, but neither the ghoul nor Papa are likely at their most rational.

Perhaps they have not been at their most rational for quite a while.

He only eats and drinks to get away from the casual conversation, covering up any prying questions with “ _It’s a little warm in here, don’t you think?_ ” 

“Papa, please, you shouldn't push yourself,” comes the protest from Nihil’s assistant at his apparent refusal to go back to his seat after the physical exertion begins to get the best of him. Nihil responds in turn with his typical cheerful explanations of “wanting to mingle” and how “an old man needs all the fun he can get”. Judging by the amount of time the Second spends tormenting the ghoul, he can’t be too far off with that one. The ghoul almost laughs, but bites his tongue. It’s the age remark that got him into this mess in the first place, after all.

On the way back to his seat at the assistant’s incessant urging, Nihil pauses behind his second eldest to drop both hands heavily onto his shoulders. The Second freezes completely at the contact, eyes wide with the universally known expression of terror at being caught doing something bad by your parents. 

“I am glad to see you reaching out equally to all members of the clergy, but don’t you think it’s a bit much?” 

The Second quickly composes himself and turns his head slightly to address his father. 

“How do you mean?”

His voice comes out sounding somewhat stiff and uncomfortable, obviously unhappy with the slight slip in control over the situation. The tone definitely doesn't suit him. The ghoul hopes he never has to hear it ever again.

“He looks a little nervous, don't you think?”

The Second takes a good look at the ghoul from the corner of his eye.

“... I suppose.” 

“Yes. You’re looking a little bit flushed, ghoul. Try to go easy on the drinks – it’ll be okay,” Nihil laughs and pats his son’s shoulders, the Second shifting a little to the side with the surprising amount of strength behind the gesture. The ghoul hides a big sheepish grin behind his hand. It's all a joke, he realizes. He couldn't have known about their... activities, but there's no way he wouldn't have picked up on the tension between the two of them. Once Nihil continues on his way, the Second exaggeratedly mouths a curse at the ghoul, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The reaction is so uncharacteristic of the man, at an event at least, nevermind his behavior when he sneaks off for parties and social gatherings of his own choosing, that the ghoul can’t help but laugh. Maybe sitting back to observe the family dynamic isn’t too bad after all. Papa pulls his foot away so that he’s no longer making contact, but doesn’t remove it from his chair. Just in case, the ghoul muses. 

Before he knows it, the meal proper seems to come to a close. More and more clergy members stand and change seats and migrate around the perimeter of the dining hall, and all the ghoul can think about is how he's going to sneak away with no one seeing the tent in his pants when the time comes to clear the tables. 

Luckily, it seems that there isn’t much of a rush – not many of the attendees have any work that needs tending to after this. It gives him a minute or two to calm himself down, silently thanking Lucifer for the knee length cassock and apron of his uniform before he takes his cue from the other members of the kitchen staff, who have at this point begun excusing themselves from their own tables. He’d better get a move on or he won’t hear the end of it by his next shift. The elder ghoul in charge has become somewhat of a tyrant lately.

“If you’d excuse me for a moment?” he rushes. He scoots his chair back to stand, a woman who he vaguely recognizes as Sister June raises her eyebrows at the sound of the Second’s shoe hitting the wooden floor, silently bringing her glass to her lips and looking away. Great. He shoots a look at the Second, who doesn’t even bother trying to look nonchalant. All he gets is a subtle shrug. 

The other kitchen staff members are already bustling about, picking up the empty dishes to be replaced with small portions of dried fruits and bitter chocolate, and warm mugs of mulled pomegranate wine for those who want it. Even while making an honest attempt to focus on his work, the ghoul still finds himself stealing glances back at Papa, who is busy again with even more conversation now that people are free to move here and there without being impolite. He notices that someone has already taken his abandoned seat and decides that maybe it’s a sign to leave well enough alone. Or maybe it’s karma? Whatever. 

Once everything is all set, and the kitchen staff are free to go back to their business for a little while longer, the ghoul hopefully looks around for yet another free seat that's at least somewhere close to the Second. After a too-long moment of looking like a deer in the headlights, the First once again seemingly takes pity on their newly replaced table guest and quietly asks something of the Sibling seated between himself and the Second. The Sibling scoots their chair in much much closer to the eldest son, the blush on their cheeks noticeably going a few shades deeper, to make way for the chair being dragged over from the other end of the table. That's... very kind of him. It shouldn't be that much of a shock; it isn't like anyone here has ever been mean or uncaring. The ghoul can’t help but wonder if this is a regular thing, having so many vying for attention to the point of constant seating changes. He'll be sure to offer his gratitude to the First at the next available opportunity.

Still, the ghoul has the overwhelming urge to run off to hide in the furthest, darkest corner of the room, blanching when the First gestures to the new seat and smiles at the skittish ghoul. No escape. He can’t really explain it, even to himself, but the Second always somehow manages to elicit a peculiar, intoxicating brand of fear from deep inside of him. It’s exhilarating.

Fuck.

He debates pretending like he didn’t see any of that. At least until the Second looks directly at him, not once pausing in his conversation. 

_Fuck!_

His cock twitches and already starts to fill out again at the mere idea of being in such close proximity so soon, despite the fact that he’d obviously spent quite an amount of time being near Papa without too much incident before. He should be grateful, he supposes. He’s lucky that Papa is even giving him the time of day, all things considered.

The seats are a little more cramped together than he was used to, but it was to be expected. The ghoul sits quietly next to Papa and nurses a warm mug filled nearly to the brim with spiced, honey sweetened wine, scooting his chair closer when asked to do so. Just like before, he doesn't make much of an effort to join the ongoing conversation unless spoken directly to, in which case the Second turns to face him instead of expecting the ghoul to speak to the group as a whole. With each comment or question, Papa lowers his voice, the way that he knows sends a little bit of a shiver down his spine, as if sharing a secret between just the two of them.

And in a way he is.

A stray hand finds its way to the ghoul’s leg. It just stays there for now, innocently enough to not raise any suspicions. But the ghoul knows better. 

_This is a trick._

Sure enough, he’s halfway through a big drink of his wine when the hand creeps higher up his thigh. He chances a glance at those seated opposite of him, and then at the Sibling beside him, breathing an internal sigh of relief when he sees that they’re much too engrossed in their conversation with the First to look anywhere else, much less at what’s happening beneath the table.

Papa’s hand pulls at his thigh, spreading his legs apart just enough to get between them. How often does he get up to this kind of thing, exactly? His face is totally unreadable, the only emotion peeking through being his ever-present vague sense of boredom.

“Poor thing,” Papa murmurs with a click of his tongue. “That must be so uncomfortable. Do you need help?”

Slow, gentle pressure returns to his cock, hot and heavy against the crease of his hip and thigh.

“Answer me or you get nothing.”

He finds himself nodding, hoping it appears to go along with the outside conversation. There’s no way he’s trusting himself to not moan the moment he opens his mouth. He thinks that if he stops biting his lips, he won't be able to control it at all.

Papa leans back in his seat, throwing an elbow over the backrest. Riding the fine line between cockiness and confidence, as per usual when things start to go in what he deems to be an interesting direction. 

“Feels good?” He asks in a hushed voice, closer to a fucking purr than the ghoul thought could be possible. He rolls the palm of his hand against the base of his cock, the ghoul’s hips raising slightly off his chair to meet his motions. The twitch is easily disguised as the ghoul getting comfortable in his seat and he lets a soft groan slip. 

An elder ghoulette from the kitchen steps up to the main table, stopping right in front of them. Papa takes his hand back to join the other, folded on top of the table – the very picture of innocence. Bastard. 

After a short bow, the ghoulette turns her attention to the ghoul.

“Sister Mary Catherine says you can skip out on picking up if you aren’t done yet. You’ll just have to help wash dishes later.”

It takes him a second or two to clear his head and comprehend what he’s being told.

“Oh! Yeah, okay. Th-thanks, Lith,” he stammers. 

Lith raises her eyebrow when his voice shakes more than usual, but she makes no mention of it.

“‘Course.” 

The ghoul looks up to the Second to say something, teeth clacking shut when he notices that he’d already returned to his conversation with the Brother seated diagonally across from them, paying the ghoul no mind. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted, but the ghoul had to admit that it was getting a little old, thankful that no one had said anything about it.

But it was never a matter of _if_ they would be caught. It was _when,_ and _by who_.

The ghoul lets his eyes wander around the table, passing over everybody else before accidentally locking eyes with the Third, who quickly glances over to his elder brother and winks at the ghoul from over his wine glass. Feeling all of the blood leave his face, the ghoul quickly stands, grabbing his own dishes as well as any empty glasses nearby. 

“Well! Thank you for your time, Papa. It’s been a pleasure. Hey Lith?”

When he calls out, Lith looks her shoulder over from where she’s loading a bar cart with dirtied glasses.

“I’m gonna get started, okay?” 

He doesn’t even wait to see her wave before attempting his escape to the relative safety of the kitchens, but not before he's caught by the sleeve. 

“I would like to continue our conversation later. If you please.”

And he does. He _does_ please. 

All throughout the remainder of his shift, he can't get rid of that residual fire in his belly, head swimming with pheromones and arousal long after he’s finished with the sink filled to the top and then some with plates and wine glasses, and even longer after he hears most of the festivities, save for a few hangers on, move away from the packed dining hall and out to the pleasantly chill courtyard. 

It isn’t until he’s totally finished and the kitchen is free of dirty dishes and leftovers that he decides to drop in on the Second. Just to see if he’s done with the papal duties, or whatever it is that that family does in their free time besides fuck around and party. Or that’s what he tells himself. 

When he peeks into the entryway to the dining hall, the Second is _still_ milling about with his family and other church members despite the fact that he looks so thoroughly _over_ the entire ordeal, conversing with a few older clergy members who stayed after dinner to speak personally with Nihil. Just like all of the overly enthusiastic and devoted grandmas and aunties from his old church, the ghoul thinks. Every religion has them, probably. The ghoul lingers in the doorway, watching the Second stare into space every so often, only snapping back into focus when somebody asks him a question or gets a little too handsy. _Doesn’t he fucking get tired_?

During a rare lull in conversation, the ghoul takes his chance to walk up and put on his best Good Boy voice, resting a gentle hand on Papa’s arm.

“Excuse me. Papa, might I steal you for a moment?”

He looks down at the ghoul and pauses as if considering his request before excusing himself, stating that he will be going on a walk and bidding them a good night. An older ghoulette mutters something about _courtship_ , but the ghoul can't catch the full phrase – all he knows is that the two other clergy members shake their heads with tight, knowing smiles. The ghoul does his best to usher Papa away as quickly as possible. 

“Come on. I’m rescuing you,” he says. 

“Is that it?”

Papa seems to sound amused, reigniting the warm feeling in the ghoul’s chest. 

Once they get a far enough distance away that the ghoul won’t have to worry about being overheard, he finally asks, hushed, why he chose _dinner_ of all times and places.

“It seemed to be as good a time and place as any,” comes the simple reply. 

The ghoul doesn’t even have it in him to feign annoyance. 

“You know your brother totally noticed, right?” the ghoul asks, allowing a bit of his unease to leech into his voice. Papa nods. 

“I have not heard the end of it.” 

His voice is flat as he sneers in the general direction of his younger brother, still standing with their father and looking entirely too at ease. The Third waves and the Second returns the sentiment with a gesture of his own. It seems a bit harsh, but the Third throws his head back with a laugh. 

Turning his attention back to the ghoul, he asks, "Are you alright?"

"That's a hell of a question. I... kind of don't really care that he knows," he begins, the end of the statement sounding more like a question. "I just don't want it getting out. I'll get in trouble."

Defying all expectation, Papa does not find amusement in his worrying or discomfort. 

Actually, that isn't right. All of his concerns have been taken gravely seriously so far. He has no reason to actively doubt Papa's judgement when it comes to this sort of thing; that wouldn't be fair. The tension fades from his brow at the feeling of a gloved hand stroking reassuringly along his cheek. Even still, the ghoul crosses his arms and takes a good, hard look at the man stood in front of him. Beneath the mask of annoyance and exhaustion, he looks much too pleased with himself. The ghoul smirks and leans in close to make sure no one else would hear, even with the distance.

“You rubbed me off ‘cause you really couldn’t get it up, huh?” 

_Bingo_ , if the expression on his face is anything to go by.

With his hand still on the ghoul's cheek, he pinches the skin between his first two fingers, just enough to hurt a little.

“You like to rush into things, whereas I do not.” 

Nice cover up. 

The ghoul rolls his eyes and bats the hand away. It’s true, he can't fault him for that, but it’s still a blatant excuse. 

“I did have other plans for you, much more interesting plans, but something is telling me that a little extra embarrassment is more like a reward for you.” Papa’s voice is low and dangerous, all bite and venom. Just the way they like it. The ghoul doesn’t even bother to mask the little shuddering sigh the voice elicits from him.

“Really? And those plans would be...?” 

Perhaps his tone should be enough to make the ghoul wary, but he knows that he is capable of taking whatever Papa decides to give him. 

“I’d have much preferred you in my lap, for one – you may thank my brother for saving you.” The Second’s hand is now gently cupping the ghoul’s jaw, thumb running over the smooth grey skin of the ghoul’s cheek, now a dusky pink after its earlier treatment. “Show off the new little ghoul I have trained so well, let you preen in the praise… You do enjoy it quite a bit, do you not?” 

The ghoul visibly bristles.

“I only like it ‘cause it’s you,” the ghoul hisses, narrowing his eyes at the way Papa doesn't even seem caught off guard with having that little bit of information being thrown at him. “You’re projecting,” he adds as an afterthought, refusing to elaborate further.

All he gets is an amused _hmph_ and Papa dropping a heavy hand on the back of the ghoul’s neck to shake him around a little as they resume walking. 

“Come, come, come. I am not done with you yet,” Papa croons into his ear, earning another shiver.

 _The snares and wickedness of the Devil,_ the ghoul thinks to himself.

Papa steers the ghoul through the same stairs and corridors he’d traversed numerous times before, all the while stroking the nape of his neck with his thumb and whispering terrible things into his ears. His nerves get worse and worse the closer they get to their ultimate destination, Papa’s hands roaming the entire time. It’s nothing particularly lascivious. Only a few light touches here and there, but his heart is ready to practically leap out of his chest by the time they reach the bedroom, barely able to keep his hands to himself as the door is unlocked and he’s led back inside.

Their clothes are being pulled at and undone before the door is even fully closed, the ghoul already leaning in to catch Papa in a rough kiss – his stomach flips when Papa lets him, returns it even, instead of their usual game of chase. The gloves are among the first to go and Papa chuckles when he notices the hint of disappointment that crosses the ghoul’s features. He doesn’t feel like ruining another pair. Not tonight at least. 

Pointed teeth scrape at his lips, the sting immediately being soothed by the ghoul licking at the reddened skin where the black paint was bitten away. Papa brings a thumb up to wipe the dark greyish paint smudge from the ghoul’s lip, only for the digit to be caught immediately, cheeks hollowing as it's sucked into his mouth. All the ghoul gets for his efforts is an amused huff and a crooked smirk, Papa gently pushing his thumb in further, slowly drawing it in and out and pressing on his tongue. When the digit is withdrawn, it’s with a smug grin and parting lick trailing from where his thumb connects to his palm, all the way up to the tip. 

“You never got to cum,” Papa says, though the ghoul knows that it’s less a statement and more of a question. 

Shaking his head, the ghoul grabs at Papa’s arm when a warm hand pushes up the short cassock and past the waistband of his loosened trousers, choking on a groan at the long awaited feeling of skin on skin. There was plenty of time for him to sneak away to the washroom but he couldn’t bring himself to take matters into his own hands. Didn’t feel good, didn't feel right, but he can’t help but wonder how much more sensitive he would be if he had _._

“ _Good._ ”

Papa pulls back and begins undressing. 

In an attempt to calm his trembling hands, the ghoul busies himself with counting his breaths as he unbuttons his own clothing. He folds the apron and cassock and leaves them on the dresser, followed soon after by his pants. Papa does largely the same, taking much more care when it comes to the outer vestments. Finally turning his attention back to the ghoul, who by now is finished wrestling his way out of his uniform, firmly pushing him to the mattress with a strong hand on his chest. The ghoul sets to undoing the buttons of Papa’s shirt, his pent up frustration seeming to get the best of him when he growls in frustration.

“Why do you have to wear so much clothes,” he grouses, more to himself than anything.

Papa quirks an eyebrow, brushing the ghoul’s hands aside, ignoring the distracting way that the ghoul drags his hands up and down his sides and chest. 

“So impatient,” he teases. “We celebrate sexuality, yes, but there is still common decency to consider. I _assume_ you are familiar.” 

The shirt is pushed off of his shoulders and onto the floor with a vague sound of agreement as soon as the ghoul is able to do so, tugging Papa forward by the belt. When he’s finally free of the now too-tight dress pants, constricting fabric quickly replaced with a soft and warm hand, Papa hisses through his teeth.

“Missed you,” the ghoul mumbles, wrapping his fingers around the Second’s cock, draping his free arm around his waist to pull him close enough to rest his head on Papa’s abdomen.

“And you are speaking to...?” 

“Wh– you! Obviously!” 

The ghoul’s gaze snaps back up to look Papa in the eyes, only to be met with a wry smile— or what could feasibly pass for a smile. He huffs. 

“Jeez. I’m not that horrible, am I?” He loosely strokes his cock and rests his head again. “But I mean… the dick is pretty good.”

Papa laughs this time, indulging him by allowing the ghoul to leave a few open mouthed kisses along his stomach and hip bones before guiding the ghoul to scoot higher up on the bed, following closely after.

“Provided I’m not too old and feeble,” Papa mumbles against the ghoul’s mouth, cutting off a sound caught halfway between a laugh and an exasperated groan. Infuriatingly enough, he feels a grin forming on the Second’s face. Before the ghoul can call the old man out, he’s brusquely flipped over onto his stomach. 

Instead of painfully drawing it out into yet another form of torture, prep goes by in what feels like an endless blur of heat and spit and lube, rough hands pushing the ghoul face down into the mattress. Two fingers get shoved deep in his mouth, among other places. They have more of a comfortable rhythm by now, despite the few month long gaps between meetings, but it’s by no means boring. Even after so many encounters, the ghoul still finds himself trembling at the feeling of the Second’s fingers, the way he first pushes inside; a little too quick and harsh to be completely comfortable, but never so much as to be overwhelmingly painful. 

Tight heat is already coiling in his gut, being fucked into the mattress with Papa’s hand pressed between his shoulder blades and his own barely muffling the desperate sounds being wrenched out of him. The fabric of the pillow case is already wet with tears and drool, sticking a little to his face with each thrust. It doesn't feel like Papa is going to let up any time soon, especially not with the occasional ragged noise of his own or his free hand gripping tightly at the ghoul’s thigh or hip to pull his ass back until he’s flush against his hips. Getting slammed into the way he is is starting to hurt a little, but the ghoul would be a liar if he said he didn't enjoy that too. After having his hand brushed away multiple times, the ghoul’s finally given up on trying to help himself along. He’s practically dripping onto the sheets, shifting around and trying to arch his back into the sensation of being filled. His cock twitches as if to remind him of his missed opportunity to find a bit of relief earlier, and he’s almost to the point of begging when Papa pulls out completely.

“ _Fuck_ , Papa, please” the ghoul whines brokenly, clawing at the sheets in his frustration while Papa rubs his hands over the ghoul’s ass, but makes no move to continue fucking him. Surely he couldn’t have finished? Or is he going to make him wait even longer? He whimpers at the thought. 

Instead, Papa just sits beside the ghoul with his back resting against the headboard, taking a deep, calming breath. With a quizzical sound at the feeling of a hand in his hair, pulling a little to get his attention, the ghoul cracks an eye open. The short tug on his hair isn't exactly gentle, but it doesn’t hurt him at all. 

There is something dark and hungry behind Papa’s eyes when the ghoul finally gets a good look at his face. Something ravenous.

 _Oh, fuck_. 

Papa’s hand untangles itself from the ghoul’s hair in favor of patting his lap, other hand idly stroking himself. 

“Come here.” 

The ghoul gets a strange, misplaced urge to make himself look decent and wipe the drool and tear tracks from his face with the back of his hand, but gets the sneaking suspicion that it won’t make much of a difference and that Papa might not care, or even want him to. On shaking arms, he hauls himself up and straddles Papa’s thighs, the muscle already burning and weak from the strain of keeping his back arched and pushing against him. Slowly, Papa guides himself back into the ghoul, keeping a tight grasp on one of his hips. His mouth drops open, just the barest amount, at the sound of the ghoul whining when he’s fully seated in his lap.

Without even thinking of asking, the ghoul kisses him needily – not that the ghoul really needs to ask as of late, seeing as begging for something as simple as a kiss was more like a game that Papa only truly enjoyed when he was the one winning. The ghoul rolls his hips, both to get used to the change in position, and in response to Papa biting his lip and sucking his tongue into his mouth. Blunt claws dig into his chest, where black paint meets skin, leaving scores in the makeup that give way to pale, pink lines. Papa hisses, sighing shakily into the ghoul’s mouth and bites harshly on his lower lip in retaliation. The new position does not comfortably allow for much movement from the ghoul, so Papa uses his grip on the ghoul’s ass to get him to meet him halfway with each thrust. Pale grey lines streak here and there down Papa’s chest and navel where sweat beads on his skin and takes his paint with it.

Desperately, the ghoul wants to sink his claws and teeth into something soft and forgiving, touch himself, do _anything_ , but the way he’s being held leaves his arms folded and pinned between their bodies. Instead of putting the energy he doesn’t have into repositioning himself, he decides to rest his full weight against Papa’s chest and close his eyes, no longer even attempting to hold back any involuntary noises or movements. From the new angle of where his head is cradled at Papa's neck and shoulder, his quiet, ragged moaning is almost right next to his ear, making him shake harder, thighs straining once more to help pick up the pace, exert more force, but all he can really reliably do is lick and bite at whatever skin he can reach. 

He briefly considers leaving some sort of mark but isn't sure how well that would go over – the paint would cover it, yes, but Papa had never once shown any interest in receiving marks of his own aside from a few trophy scratches here and there, and the ghoul currently lacks the appropriate mental faculties to form the question coherently. Instead of possibly getting in even more trouble, and not the fun kind, he settles for gently worrying at the skin with his teeth some more, to take the edge off of the urge to bite and mark and claim. 

_This doesn’t work like that_ , comes the rare voice of reason in the back of his head.

There’s barely enough pressure to leave even a temporary red spot, but the sharp intake of breath with each press of teeth pushes his self control to its absolute limit.

_...But think about how good it would feel._

Well, crap. There’s no arguing with that logic.

Fortunately or unfortunately, he doesn’t even get the chance, already being pulled back in for another kiss by a heavy hand tangled up in the hair at the nape of his neck. Too slow on the uptake, it seems, his movements rendered sluggish and disjointed by how fucking exhausted he is. There’s only so much a simple ghoul can take before the repeated ebb and flow of endorphins and pheromones starts taking its toll. Pleas and whines are slurred against Papa’s lips, the ghoul clinging desperately to whatever he can reach. Teary eyed, lips swollen and slick with saliva, skin flushed from the tips of his ears down to his chest… What a fucking disgrace. 

Gathering saliva on his tongue, Papa pries the ghoul's mouth open with his fingers, even though he really doesn't need to. Everything they have, every bit of it, is willingly and knowingly given and received at this point, all pretenses thrown aside for the sake of what sets off that unbearable blaze beneath their skin and makes them _want_. He has to admit, he's pretty fond of it. When the ghoul whines around the fingers hooked into his mouth, Papa lets the spit drip off of his tongue just to see the heat addled look on the ghoul's face before he seals the kiss.

It’s less awkward than the remembered it being. Less embarrassing, too. He isn’t sure what that says about either of them. Papa makes a noise in the back of his throat, not entirely unlike a growl, as he collects the spit collecting at the corner of the ghoul’s lips on his fingers, pushing them back into the ghoul’s mouth. The ghoul licks and sucks at the fingers, sighing as he does so and making such a show of it that Papa has to lean back in, tongue joining the ghoul’s where it’s still laving over the pads of his first two fingers. His hand falls away to grab again at the ghoul’s outer thigh, pushing and pulling and leaving a damp trail on his skin. Panting against his lips, the ghoul leaves himself open for Papa to continue doing what he wills with him – namely, licking further into his mouth or at his tongue until the both of them are equally breathless, open-mouthed panting against each other. He only pauses for a moment when he pulls away to spit into his palm and wrap a hand around the ghoul’s length, slick enough with precum as it is, reclaiming the ghoul’s lips once he begins to move again. 

“–make me feel so fucking good.”

It’s quiet and muffled against his lips so he doesn't quite get all of it, but it still catches the ghoul entirely off guard. The Second isn’t exactly one to shy away from telling anybody how he really feels, sexually or otherwise, but there’s something different about it – his tone, perhaps, or the slight tinge of fondness in his voice – that sets the ghoul off, letting out a high, broken sound and grinding down hard in the Second’s lap. That's more like it.

“Are you ready to come? Do you want to come for me, ghoul?” 

He nods, chest heaving, unable to stop the loud keening sound he makes when Papa pulls his hand away and momentarily denies him the feeling _again_. 

“Let me see.”

Instead of doing it himself, he drags the ghoul’s hand by the wrist away from where it’s rested on his chest, and down to finally touch himself. 

“Show me,” Papa says through gritted teeth, his face and mismatched eyes so hard and intense and _terrifying_ beneath the wrecked skull paint that the ghoul’s breath escapes his lungs completely. His thighs burn enough to know they’re going to ache something fierce later, but he still at least makes an attempt to fuck himself back on Papa’s cock, feeble as the attempt may be. 

_Don’t be embarrassed,_ he has to tell himself. _Nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve done this practically a billion times._

The thought doesn’t help. Or, depending on how he looks at the situation and considering the way his body tends to react to thinking about getting himself off in front of someone he admires so greatly, even if they _are_ already in the thick of it, it definitely does help. His hand picks up the pace, slick noises almost drowned out by how heavily the both of them are breathing at the feel of one another.

When his orgasm hits, his entire body locks up with a series of strained groans through gritted teeth. More tears spill over and leave fresh tracks down his cheeks, head falling back. Come drips over his fingers with each wave of his orgasm and smears on the skin where he’s still closely pressed against Papa. After spending all that time feeling as frustrated and pent up as he has, he can’t even bring himself to give a fuck about what he looks like or the embarrassing sounds he may be making. Papa holds him through it, rocking up into the shivering ghoul and groaning at each twitch of overstimulation, dropping his arms from where they’re looped around the ghoul's waist to grab his ass again. The pace slowed considerably without Papa guiding him, every unmuffled noise and incessant roll of hips keeping the both of them overwhelmed and trembling. 

“Do you want me to come inside you?”

The ghoul cries out at the question, all of his nerves set alight, hips bucking involuntarily. Failing to find any words other than curses and a weak _yes, god, please_ , he squeezes his eyes shut with a whimper. Blunt nails dig harshly into his ass as he’s pounded into with renewed energy. His vision goes a little fuzzy – from sensitivity or more tears, he isn’t entirely sure anymore. All he can do is focus on the feeling the thundering heartbeat and rapid rising and falling of the chest beneath his hands and hope for the best. Just to keep his mouth busy, he starts leaving little kisses on whatever he can reach; Papa’s jaw, his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth where his aim was off. At a particularly hard series of thrusts, he tips forward and catches his balance by looping his arms around Papa’s neck, moaning into his mouth.

“Please come, please come, please come—” 

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s saying all of that out loud again, but doesn’t have time to feel dumb or ashamed, not when Papa’s making the sounds that he is and has that particular look in his eye – he can’t bring himself to focus anywhere else but at his parted lips or that piercing gaze. 

The ghoul gasps, pulse pounding at the way the grip Papa has on him tightens to sink his cock inside as deep as he possibly can. The ensuing series of shuddering, gasping moans escaping the Second’s mouth is the most dramatic reaction the ghoul has ever pulled from him, which still isn't saying too much. He growls, a low and dangerous sound, into the ghoul’s mouth, making way to progressively softer moans as he spills inside of the ghoul; he can feel the cock pulsing and twitching inside of him, filling him completely as Papa holds him through it a little too tightly. 

It’s not only the feeling itself but the unbearable closeness of the action that sets something off inside the ghoul, vision tunneling and body temperature spiking considerably. His pupils are blown wide, eclipsing the color of his eyes completely. Ultimately feeling content and at peace, he clings to Papa’s shoulders and whines, licking and kissing at whatever he can. There’s patches of paint almost completely washed away from Papa’s skin, and now that the fog in his brain is somewhat clearing, he’s made aware of the slightly unpleasant oily taste of it on his tongue. Papa doesn’t seem to mind and lets the ghoul recover in his lap, pulling him into another relatively messy kiss. It’s lax and lazy but not entirely uncharacteristic of him, and it would’ve reignited the fire in his gut had he not been so utterly spent.

Before he even knows what’s happening, the ghoul snarls in protest when Papa tries to gently lift him off of his lap. He’s left to silently contemplate the pros and cons of prying the ghoul away from him while idly stroking his thumbs over the ghoul’s lower back. Leaving him there wouldn’t be too bad, he supposes. At least for the time being. Meanwhile, the ghoul takes to sweeping his hands over Papa’s skin as if trying to memorize every dip and valley of his chest and torso. 

A soft rumble emanates from deep within the ghoul’s chest - _purring_? No, that doesn't make any sense. Ghouls aren’t known to purr, at least not to the Second’s extensive and intimate knowledge, but he does recall that they tend to emit a low growl immediately after sex with their preferred partner to scare off any unwanted company. The ghoul _is_ rather young; mid twenties are nothing, especially compared to his own age (loath to admit as he is), and doubly so when taking a fully realized ghoul’s dramatically increased lifespan into account. It makes sense that he wouldn’t yet have a particularly developed or frightening growl.

It is somewhat endearing, though, and just enough to distract him from the implications that come with that low feeble growl. For now at least. The Second is never one to shy away from setting clear boundaries and explaining the nature of his more personal relationships, but he has the sense about him to wait until the ghoul’s brain is back in working order before laying anything out.

Papa mouths his way down to the ghoul’s neck, no doubt intending on leaving another deep purple mark, freeing the ghoul to say the first thing that comes to mind. 

“Not bad for an old man.”

The remark earns him a sharp bite to the side of the neck and he cries out, but mostly in shock — there’s no real malice or intent to hurt behind it, the ghoul laughing when he feels a second bite, and then a third.

But he freezes at a growl of a different sort, putting a hand to his stomach.

“Hungry? Again?” 

“Hey, that was a lot of work I put in there, don’t you think?” 

He gingerly extracts himself from Papa’s grasp and rolls over onto the cool side of the bed, splaying his limbs out with a heavy sigh.

“Besides, I was sorta distracted during dinner. Or did you forget?” 

“You could have still eaten.” 

“No! You’d have made me choke to death. Try explaining _that_ to Nihil.”

Papa is silent for a moment while he shifts into a more comfortable position, as if considering the ghoul’s words.

“Well…” he runs a hand over the corners of his mouth. “Choking on something has never been an issue for you before…” 

The ghoul practically squawks, his face going a deep, greyish red. In an attempt to hide the smile fighting to break out, Papa purses his lips and turns his head away.

“You think you’re so funny,” the ghoul says, yawning and stretching out again, wincing a little at the tightness in his overworked thighs and knees… and everywhere else, really.

“I am.” Papa pats the ghoul on the head, attempting to flatten out his sweat frizzled hair. “Come. We will go back to the kitchen.”

All he gets in response is a grumble and the ghoul nestling further into the sheets. Papa drums his fingers on the top of his head until the ghoul bats the hand away to glare at him.

“Sleep later. The night is young, so much left to do. I believe the celebration has moved to the courtyard.”

When the ghoul refuses to answer and instead returns to the pillow, Papa sits up and begins collecting the multiple articles of clothing still strewn out on the bed and floor despite their earlier efforts of getting them neatly into their proper places. While Papa busies himself with cleaning up and getting himself half dressed, the ghoul cracks an eye open to check the time on the clock; nearly midnight. He’s right, it’s still fairly early, at least where church festivities were concerned. He groans.

“Surely you can’t be tired as well?” 

Papa smacks the outside of the ghoul’s thigh on his way back from retrieving the ghoul’s admittedly poorly folded uniform from the dresser. The smack doesn’t hurt at all, but it stings just enough to get his full attention.

“Okay, okay, jeez, I get it. I’m not tired, I’m fucking sore.” 

Papa huffs at the ghoul’s tone. 

“Is that an issue? Should I be more careful with you?” 

The ghoul refuses to even dignify that with a response. He knows damn well how much the ghoul loves having a lingering reminder or two of his time spent with his favorite Papa. Conversely, he also knows how much his favorite Papa loves _leaving_ those lingering reminders. It's all copacetic. 

When Papa makes the mistake of looking like he’s going to leave, the ghoul reaches out to wrap his arms around his waist in an attempt to drag him back into bed. 

...It doesn’t work. All it does is knock him slightly off balance, but otherwise he hardly budges. 

“ _What are you doing_?” 

The ghoul doesn’t answer, only raises himself up on his knees to leave more licks and open mouthed kisses on his neck and jaw. Papa sighs. The question had come out with more venom than strictly necessary; he’d been meaning to work on that. Honestly. He knows the ghoul can be somewhat sensitive, and though he may be a stern man, he doesn’t intend on hurting the members of his flock any more than he needs to.

He curls his fingers in the ghoul's hair. 

“I still have matters to attend to. You do not have to be there. But,” he tugs just a tiny bit, only to make sure the ghoul looks him in the eye. “You are welcome to come back and stay here for the night, provided you endure the rest of the celebration. Yes? How does that sound?”

The ghoul diverts his gaze and squints, eyebrows furrowed. Being allowed to come back would more than make up for having to go back out there with what was no doubt a neck full of marks and a limp. It sounded nice… A little too nice.

“You’re just gonna do something weird to me again,” he says, eyeing Papa suspiciously. 

“I ask yet again, is that an issue?” 

His tone more stern than earlier – there is a time and a place for jokes, and possible withdrawal of consent or a change in boundaries leaves no room for joking around, even with a safeword constantly in play. The ghoul lets himself flop back onto the bed and begins hunting around for his uniform before finally noticing that it’s been in Papa’s hands the entire time. 

“Nope! No problem.” He swipes the bundle of clothing away and ineffectually tries to shake out any wrinkles, laying each article out on the bed. “I wanna initiate next time, though, ‘kay?”

Papa appears to mull it over in his head, and after a while of considering the ramifications of giving the ghoul permission to initiate, he nods. The ghoul seems satisfied and stands, rubbing the sides of his hips with an exaggerated grimace once Papa has a seat at the mirror, just like earlier that evening. They really did a number on that face paint, and he can’t help but feel a little bad for sullying all that effort, but the ghoul shrugs it off. If it truly bothered Papa, even a little bit, there’s no doubt in his mind that it would have been brought it up by now. 

By the time the ghoul’s gotten himself cleaned up in the attached bathroom, he takes his place back on the bed where he left his clothing. He doesn't even bother to stand back up while dressing, instead opting to shove both legs into his underwear and trousers, kicking and wriggling around on the bed until both articles were high enough on his waist to refasten. The rest of the uniform follows suit without incident or too much fucking around.

After a bit of waiting, he begins to get antsy. The warm, fuzzy feeling of bonding hormones has finally begun to die down, leaving only residual adrenaline. Before long, his newfound nervous jitters start to get the better of him and he excuses himself before he can crawl back into bed to create a makeshift nest, or to possibly crawl back into Papa’s lap to _really_ test his recovery time. It’s a tough choice, but it has to be done. Everybody knows that the Second likes to have a good time. Skipping out on a lower level ritual here and there to indulge in a few of life’s carnal pleasures is no issue, but he doubts that even a Papa could get away with disrespecting such a dear friend of his father’s by disappearing for too long. _Respect where respect is due, above all else_ , says the ever present nagging voice inside the ghoul’s brain. 

“I'm gonna head out, alright? See if there’s work that needs doing.” 

“Close the door on your way out, if you would,” Papa says, completely absorbed in reapplying the black paint to his mouth with the coarse paintbrush. “I will see you soon.”

And he does. 

In fact, he sees the ghoul repeatedly, flitting this way and that through the crowd enjoying the ambiance of the garden, occasionally shoving a stolen snack into his mouth. It seems he’d been roped back into helping the other kitchen staff by offering drinks, even though he’d finished his previously assigned tasks before even thinking of coming back to the dining hall. There’s no immediate opportunity to meet with the ghoul, or any of his other multiple paramours for that matter, what with his father still acting as sociable and high spirited as ever, dragging whichever of his sons was closest at the time into various conversations with acquaintances only somewhat remembered. 

However, being expected to make an appearance and socialize doesn’t stop any of the Emeritus sons from taking frequent breaks to see to their own interests. The First is seated off in a far corner, by the roses, speaking with hushed whispers and gentle touches to his own preferred company of ghouls and Siblings closer to his own age and temperament. The Third, picture of charm and easygoing humor that he is, is cheerfully engaging with _any_ company, provided they hold his attention. His voice and laughter only sometimes raises in volume above the others, but just enough to come off as endearing and approachable. On the other hand, those who approach the Second are appropriately distant, yet reverent, until he himself bridges the gap. Putting an arm around a set of shoulders, sharing a drink or anecdote, clasping hands, kissing hands. All is well. 

_“He’s kind of… standoffish. Don’t you think?”_

He picks the comment out from somewhere in the din of voices, coming from a relatively new Sister of Sin still fresh to the clergy, still unfamiliar of the habits of those around her. The reality of it is that he’s only taking a quick walk along the outside perimeter of the garden gate when he gets a little bored. The youngest Emeritus is there after all; he’s more than happy to soak up the leftover praise.

Being on the job _definitely_ doesn’t stop the ghoul from chasing Papa down during one of these frequent breaks. When the ghoul corners him, it’s for a kiss. Of course it is. When is it not? Clingy or jealous lovers, emotionally distant one night stands and most everything in between, he can handle. Easy and undemanding casual affection is a new development he’s still getting used to. The ghoul is satisfied, at least for now, but getting his back blown out makes him... affectionate. Domesticated, almost.

“Heya,” he says, stretching to meet Papa halfway for a shockingly chaste kiss – just a quick press of the lips. “I don’t wanna mess up the paint again,” he mutters sheepishly, when he's met with what might be able to pass for a laugh.

“There are ways to avoid it,” Papa says matter-of-factly. 

“Are there?”

The ghoul tilts his head as if he didn’t know any better, though the mischievous glint in his eye and the way he was already leaning in, nose wrinkled and tongue playfully stuck out said everything he needed to know. 

“Show me.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Immediately after several minutes of too-messy, not-too-secret makeouts, Sister Imperator drags our beloved ghoul and Papa away by the ears to receive their punishments for getting frisky in public without the explicit consent of others. Don't do that. It's very disrespectful. 
> 
> So! This fic has definitely been a long time coming. I started drafting out the basic plot outline in December of '18 and I finally sat down and hammered out the rest of the outline and the actual story over the course of the last couple days. I'm still getting used to writing something longer, even if it is just self indulgent porn of Papa II and my oc that people like for some reason. For anyone wondering why the ghoul is never directly named in my fics, it's because he's still too new. Ghouls only get their names after a certain number of years post-initiation, no matter their age or rank.  
> If you notice any weird grammatical/spelling/formatting errors, please let me know! I appreciate any and all feedback.


End file.
